Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop
by cait820
Summary: AU where Jace and Clary meet at a coffee shop, bound together by the pain of losing a parent. When Jace's father, his only remaining parent, vanishes into thin air, their blooming romance is cut short- but not for long. When the police write his father's disappearance off, Jace takes it upon himself to investigate. And guess who tags along? :
1. Chapter 1

She's here today.

I can see her sitting at a small table in the corner next to the window. From where I am, next to the coffee counter that runs against the wall, I can see her beautiful face illuminated by the late evening sun. Her green eyes are shining, reflecting the light and contrasting with her fiery cascade of hair. I could stare at her hair all day. Falling in perfect ringlets with a myriad of shades running through it. The sun hit her hair so that it seemed as though the auburn highlights were glowing among the darker shades. Beautiful.

I wish I had the guts to walk over and sit down in the seat across from her. Get to know her. Today I have an excuse, however. Her heart shaped face was set in an expression of concentration as she read her novel. She doesn't always read though. Sometimes she just sits down at her weathered table next to the window and watches people walk by, her eyes glowing as if she had a secret and a wistful expression on her face. When she does read, however, they're normally classics. I've seen her with Jane Eyre, Tess, Pride and Prejudice, etc. The current book that she's reading doesn't have a title on the front. It's just a weathered leather cover.

Although this coffee shop is old, and the tables, chairs, floors- the whole establishment, really- have seen better days, I love this place. I've been coming here since I was fifteen. It was more of an escape back then. A place where I could escape the harsh reality of my home life. I felt anonymous here. I could walk in without having to worry about pitying glances from nosy neighbors or insincere condolences from near strangers. Here, I was just a face in the crowd. Not Jace Morgenstern, "that poor dear who lost his mother in an accident and now has to care for his father, who is slowly but surely killing himself with alcohol".

I miss my mother more than anything because I loved her. But it's even more than that. Things are so much more than what they seem to be on the surface. I miss my mom because she was always there for me, and I miss her for my father's sake. I miss her, because I miss him, too. I miss his smile, I miss the way we played baseball and soccer in the back yard- I miss the relationship that I had with my father. The empty shell of a man who lives ten miles away from me is not my father. He is a stranger.

I lost my mother in the winter when I turned fifteen. It was a drunk driver. Drunk in the middle of the afternoon. No wonder my father disgusts me- look at what he's become. The same slime that was responsible for killing my mother. That's when I started coming to this old coffee shop that I love so much. A bit of a drive, I'll admit, but it was worth it. In my small neighborhood, nothing is sacred. Everyone knows everything- the accident that stole my mother from me had spread like wild fire, and news of the binge of drinking that my father fell into spread even quicker than that.

It was three weeks after her death that I came into town and walked past this old coffee shop. Three long weeks of "I'm fine", "thank you for your condolences", "yes, everything is fine at home"- three long weeks of answering questions from people who didn't want to hear the truth. Three long weeks of _me _comforting _them._

On an impulse I had decided to walk in and at the very least sit down and throw a pity party of epic proportions for myself. I walked inside and sat down and was in the middle of commencing the greatest sulk the world has ever seen when a slender girl with long red hair, porcelain skin and mischievous green eyes sat down across from me.

She was like a mirage in the desert- an angel. I swear, I even saw a halo above her head cast from the light streaming in through the window. Everything about her was a riot of color, a sight for my sore eyes in the midst of the shades of gray and antiques of the coffee shop.

"I'd recognize that look anywhere," she had said in a low voice.

"What look?"

"Like your world has just lost all meaning," she smiled compassionately at me. "My father died last fall. I thought I would never be happy again."

"Are you happy now?"

"Yes. And even though it doesn't seem like it now, you will be, too." She had smiled one last time, and then had gotten up and left me alone.

That was a month ago, and since then I have been coming to this coffee shop. I love this old place, and she is why.

I often think about what she said, about being happy again. I keep waiting for it to happen, but it never does. I think that conversation was the happiest I have been since the accident. She knows what it's like. She had to comfort total strangers, and plaster smiles on to her face, too. She had to walk around like nothing happened for everyone else, while they left her alone to pick up the pieces by herself behind their backs.

Just as they were doing to me. That's not fair, I realized. I want to be better, too. I don't want to feel alone in all of this.

I stand up from and make my way over to where she is sitting. She looks up at me and smiles while I sit down.

"So... When does it get better?"

"Took you long enough," she teased with a grin on her face.

And I do what I have been doing since the accident. I smile for her. For someone else. The only difference is that this time, I mean it.

And suddenly I don'f feel so lonely anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

So... When is it okay to lie? If ever, that is.

When I saw the boy with bronze skin and golden hair with eyes to match, I thought that my eyes were deceiving me. Guys with faces like that couldn't possibly exist outside of romance novels and fantasy... Or so I thought. But there was one problem with my real life Adonis. He looked so sad. It wasn't even that he looked sad, on second thought. He looked like nothing mattered to him. Like nothing would faze him, not even the sky falling. And then I knew- he had lost someone he loved, too.

I'm not really sure how I knew that. I mean, having experienced that myself may have been a part of it but maybe I just recognized a kindred spirit or something. Why did I talk to him? I have no idea. Other than the pressing need to get to know him, I think that more than anything I wanted to help him. He just looked so... _lost_. My heart was breaking for him because I know what that feels like. Which brings me back to my question on weather or not lying is wrong all of the time. Because I told him that this feeling, this sensation of a shattered heart or of your chest being ripped open goes away. That he will be happy again. Which isn't a lie- I am happy. Sometimes. But then sometimes I feel so sad that I feel like I'm drowning. As if I get hit by this wave of heartache and wrongness and I will never resurface. And then sometimes, when it's really bad, I feel like I will never be whole again. Like I'm walking around with a piece of me missing.

But how could I tell him that? How could I tell him that he will never be fully happy again? Because if I did tell him that then there is no chance in hell that he will ever be fully happy again. But maybe by giving him that small shred of hope, I threw him a life float in the sea of pain that I know he is lost in. Maybe that lie gave him something to work toward, to strive for. Because in the end hope is honestly all that we have. Maybe that one lie will change things for him.

I can't wait to see him again. Yesterday was... It was amazing. Jace is so smart. And genuinely kind! And even though he is hurting, I can see a bit of humor under the surface. He is really quite funny- in a sarcastic and even scornful way at times. He must have been really funny before he lost his mom.

See, I'm lucky in that way. My dad was my hero growing up. He taught me so many different things in life like how to pitch a tent, how to light campfires, how to fish- things that my debutante extraordinaire mother would never even consider. But if I had lost my mother, I would have lost so much. My best friend, my emotional support system, the list is endless. That isn't to say that I love my mother more, because I don't. Both of my parents are important to me. It's just that when you lose something that you thought would always be part of your life you begin to doubt everything. You start to think the worst. And you will always be afraid of what you might lose.

From my spot next to the window I can see Jace walking up the street. His face is wrought with worry. I wonder what happened. There is no question that Jace is disgusted by his father- that part is made obvious by how he has his own place. But I know in his heart of hearts Jace worries about his father.

The old kitchen twine decorated with rusted jingle bells chime as Jace walks through the door. He makes his way over to me and is looking at me, but I can tell that he isn't really seeing me. I can tell that something is wrong.

"What happened," I ask him as he sits down.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat in silence. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I haven't heard from my father in almost three days now. I went by his place and he isn't there."

So that's why he's late... "So what do you think happened?"

"I don't know," he said. "All I know is my father is always too wasted or drugged up on something to leave that house. If he is gone, it's because someone took him."

"Come on, Jace," I said. "He has to leave the house sometime. What about groceries and stuff like that?"

"Our neighbor does it for him. She still feels bad for both of us. She lost her husband about four years ago. I don't think she really has anything else to fill her time. But that's not the point," he said. "The point is that even though he has been a shitty father since my mom died, he is still my father and he's missing. And the police aren't helping at all. They won't take it seriously."

I can tell he is worked up. I didn't even think he was capable of saying this much and now he is telling me his life story? I don't mind though. I doubt he has anyone else to vent to.

"So...," I began.

"So... I'm going to find him myself."


End file.
